


Midday Meetings

by ThinkoftheWindandSun



Series: Prowl Week [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman Fusion, Human, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkoftheWindandSun/pseuds/ThinkoftheWindandSun
Summary: Prowl had expected a lot of things upon opening a funeral home with Chromia.He wasn't expecting to learn to fight villains.And he certainly wasn't expecting to befriend Gotham's most dangerous shadow, Batman himself.
Relationships: Prowl & Chromia
Series: Prowl Week [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709635
Kudos: 21
Collections: Prowl Week





	Midday Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own transformers or any of its many variations. Nor do I own batman or dc comics.
> 
> Prowl week day 7: Free Day
> 
> In an unrelated universe to yesterday's. This is a humanformers fic wherein the human transformers take the roles of significant dc comics characters. This is also part of a larger universe.  
> Batman is Jazz.

“Have you listened to the news yet?” Chromia asked, leaning into Prowl’s space and correcting a spelling mistake in the report he was writing.

“Of course,” said Prowl.

“Did you pay attention?” Chromia asked.

“Mostly,” said Prowl. He squinted at the last line on his report, asked, “Is that how you spell—”

“No, here, hold on—”

“Oh. Thank you,” said Prowl.

He signed the bottom of the page and set the paper aside. His fingers were stained with ink where his previous pen had exploded in his hand. He had mopped at them with a cloth, but they still needed a proper scrubbing.

When he turned to look at her, Chromia was frowning.

“What?” He asked.

“You understand what they were saying, right? You’re in danger,” said Chromia.

“We’re in danger,” corrected Prowl.

She looked at him. The frown at eased into something softer, but infinitely sterner. Truly, the duality of her expressions was a marvel.

He leaned back in his chair and considered her. Obviously, there was more to this than she was willing to share. And whatever it was, it worried her. Over him. Which was still a novel thought, even a decade into their partnership.

The news had reported that the recent wave of superhero reveals was certain to prompt a second wave of villains. Which was bad for most businesses, but good for theirs.

Which tended to make the local police suspicious. Surely, they reasoned, a villain would love to take up a job as a mortician. Which made Prowl a suspect. In turn, that made Chromia, the funeral director, a suspect.

Equally, they were in actual, physical danger from villains. Those who thought that they were in danger from whatever Prowl might find during his work. The last time the number of villains had surged so suddenly, Chromia had had to physically fight off a particularly nasty villain.

At least they had met Batman.

“Alright,” said Prowl, “What do you want to do about the situation?”

“I’m glad you asked,” said Chromia, with a smile.

And that was how they got Batman to install a state of the art security system around their building.

Well. It actually involved a lot more sneaking and politicking, but that was basically how it happened. Especially since Chromia refused to admit she was on a first name basis with Poison Ivy.

The only problem was, Prowl still hadn’t figured out just what Chromia was plotting. Oh, the security system was a nice prize. But the looks she gave him sometimes—silent, watchful things full of emotions he couldn’t name—were still there. They might have increased in number, actually.

Of course, because they lived in Gotham, their extra security measures weren’t close to enough.

Prowl had been busy unzipping a body bag when the supposed-to-be-a-corpse grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room. He hit the wall hard. Sliding down into a stunned heap on the floor. His ears were ringing something fierce.

Through vision blurred by tears he could see a living person peeling themself out of the body bag. He groaned through his teeth as he sat up. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

The villain—because a regular Gotham criminal didn’t have the necessary melodrama to pull off a fake death—stalked closer. There was a thick chain dangling from their fist. A weapon.

“You're not that tough after all,” said the villain.

“Blergh,” said Prowl. He shook his head. The throbbing got worse. He worked his tongue in his mouth and said, “The rumours are exaggerated.”

Not his finest comeback.

It didn’t matter. The villain stalked closer. Prowl grabbed hold of the hard, collapsible metal rod in the pocket of his coat. The villain loomed over him. Prowl snapped his arm out and around.

The cattle prod extended directly into the villain's stomach. They convulsed. They collapsed. Prowl hit them over the back with the metal length of the prod anyway. Revenge.

Scrambling up to his feet, he swayed, caught his balance, and pointed the cattle prod threateningly at the downed villain.

There was a soft, breathy kind of laugh from behind him.

He whirled, cattle prod raised, and—

And Batman batted it aside in one smooth movement.

Prowl stared at him. Wide eyed. Maybe a little hysterical.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” said Batman.

He stalked around Prowl to stare at the downed villain. Even in the bright lights of the morgue, he seemed nothing more than a dark silhouette. And a blindingly blue visor.

Batman tilted his head.

“Didn’t plan for the corpse plot?” Prowl asked hoarsely. He cleared his throat. It didn’t help.

“No, I did. I just didn't think anyone would actually try it,” said Batman.

Prowl blinked at him.

Batman bent down and did something. When he stood up again the villain was clearly cuffed. Batman nodded.

He looked at Prowl, or Prowl thought he was looking at him, and said, “Looks like the rumours weren’t exaggerated after all. Nice job, Prowl.”

Nice job.

Nice job.

He got a nice job from Batman.

Prowl sat down heavily on the floor, one hand clutching his aching head, and just tried not to throw up on Batman's cape. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be such a “nice job" then.


End file.
